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...And the Clouds Took it Along...

by Taman Itza

314 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0018; ISBN 1-55212-354-5; US$28.00, C$31.76, EUR23.00, £16.00

...And the Clouds Took it Along... is a powerful story of hunger and struggle in post World War II Austria, and a young man's desperate search for love and stability. It is a story of deep love -- between men, and between men and women -- of torment, and of visions from the past.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Rudi Vernoff is a young refugee, fleeing Poland with his mother as the Second World War ends and the Russian Army sweeps across Eastern Europe. They find temporary refuge in Austria, where Rudi's beautiful and narcissistic mother finds lonely officers, and a means of survival. Her legacy to Rudi, her classically handsome son, is loneliness and longing, and a desperate need for love, and stability. At seventeen, he finds both in a deeply loving and sensual affair with a young American captain -- and learns that much of the world conspires against such a love. Intrigue forces them apart. Rudi is once more abandoned. But he is wiser now, and aware of the power of his physical beauty. He knows that seduction can bring what he desires most in life: love, beauty, and wealth. But Rudi is also tormented by visions and by voices. Perhaps of lives he has lived. Perhaps of lives of others who must speak to him. The message of his visions, of a life with purpose and true love, vie with his desperate need for any love, any stability-and the life of deceit that need forces upon him. Fate brings to Rudi both poverty and riches, loneliness and love, and the understanding that his beautiful body is only a shell that will one day be empty of dreams and of longing; his soul, and a deep and final love, will outlive worlds. Review A book of great depth, vitality, rich layers of experience and searing honesty. It depicts the grandeur of post-war Europe, a world devoted to art and beauty, and chronicles the transcontinental journey of an ambitious, artistically-sensitive young man into that world through various forms of love. I know of no other book quite like it.      -Lisa Birnie      author and columnist Read the news release for this title.

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About the Author Taman Itza was born in Austria, ten years before the beginning of the Second World War. He developed a love of beauty during a childhood of love and privilege, surrounded by art and antiques. He is a world traveler: a student of beauty in architecture and art in Europe, in Africa, and in North America.

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Excerpt

from Chapter 13

Spring made its entry; the narcissus proudly showed its yellow and white blossoms. The first green sprouted on the trees and bushes, and snow held on in various places, despite the warm sunshine.

I received three more letters from Richard. After that, there was only a daily waiting, a fading hope, and then, on and on, an uncomprehending disappointment. I could not believe that he had simply given me up, leaving me to live in this uncertainty. I sent letters to him regularly, begging, imploring him for an answer; it was all in vain. Weeks, months passed without a sign from him.

I had for a long time given up the private lessons and the piano instruction in Salzburg, firstly because of the long illness which had confined me to the house, and then money became a problem. Aunt Nora started working again at the Fisher Villa. Captain Wilson had left and a Captain Clark and his American wife had taken over.

I took long walks through the fields, still very weak, but strong enough to cry my yearning and despair into the stillness.

Yet a decision must be made, for life had to go on. There was no other possibility for me than to make myself available for work with a farmer in the neighbourhood. I had to earn enough to pay for my living. I also made some money as a helper in an inn.

I was going downhill in my life, and could not avoid being stamped as a casual worker.

"You have come far," I thought as I was sitting one Sunday in the church.

"One day, however, the moment must come, and I will rise, and never fall again." I thought there had to be more to life than it should end in such insignificance.

The Baroness generally spent the whole day alone, yet appeared to feel better. She gathered herself together enough to leave the house and make little purchases. In these last months she had just enough strength, as she would constantly report, to take little walks, yet not the energy to carry a shopping-bag with food. Often, however, she took my letters for Richard to the post-office, and was always very careful to see that she received enough money for the stamps.

I left the house almost every day at six in the morning and did not return till the evening. The farm work took care of all meals and so eliminated one worry. In the evenings, Aunt Nora and I would often wander across the fields to enjoy the heavenly peace there - away from people, away from all. Should I happen to be alone in the house with the Baroness, then I was treated like dirt. My only refuge then was a bench in front of the house. There I would read an interesting book, which somehow always seemed to be about history, art or about horses - the things that Richard had liked.

One evening, I unwillingly overheard an argument between the two sisters. The screeching, breathless voice of the Baroness could not be mistaken.

"This little Polak must get out of this house. The money from his lover - shame on him again - is almost used up. The doctor has taken the last big portion. This is my house, it is not a charity home for this sort of person - and especially when they have no money! Tomorrow I shall do something, just wait, I shall get rid of him, simply kick him out, this nobody, this good-for-nothing, who only scrounges off others - this parasite. Well, this time he came to the wrong address, for here in this house there is no more room for him! Tomorrow I shall do something! Just wait Nora!"

Aunt Nora's voice suddenly turned hard.

"You will do nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! Or I shall be angrier than you have seen or heard in a lifetime. You will get your money - that I shall see to! Rudi is with me! If he must go, then I go too and I'll leave you to sit in your dirt. Now - I've made myself clear, so take note and behave accordingly. I have had enough of your meanness and self-indulgence. Besides, just so that you understand, I do not mind in the slightest packing right now. If that must be, why not? I never received a welcome here anyway. You should be ashamed of yourself. Our parents would turn in their grave if they knew how you are behaving."

The door slammed and Aunt Nora came out of the house, putting on her coat. Red in the face she turned to me:

"The old dragon is not going to carry on this way and bully everyone. I have had enough of it. I just had to tell her the truth. Oh! I know her, someone like her needs that from time to time. Now she has something to think about for the next few hours. It will not help much, but even so it is better that she knows where she stands. Come Rudi, let's go for a walk in the fields; the peace will be good!"

June and July developed into beautiful months, and everything thrived in the fields, promising a good harvest. The farmers needed helpers. Before harvest time, I was working almost every day for one farmer or another. Often there was need of help for two days or even for just a couple of hours - when I was lucky, even for two weeks. A couple of times I had the opportunity to work full time on a farm, but I shied away from it, finding excuses. I didn't want to be nailed down and have no chance to leave the area. So apart from dreaming constantly of something much better, I lived from day to day quite pleasantly.

Often, in the evening, particularly on a weekend, there was need for a helper. The landlord in the area had a little dance-hall with benches and tables. Recorded music came over a loudspeaker and lured people to the dance floor for a tango, a rumba, or a waltz. There was need for someone to serve beer, wine or soda water.

I worked willingly there and it did not bother me to be excluded from all the joyful activity. I forgot the exclusion, yet allowed myself to dream a little with my eyes open.

I earned quite a lot on such evenings - the tips were good. The young people came to let a little light into their lives, to have a little fun and they were then quite generous. Joy and generosity were stirred up by all the modern dances, which were tried, given up, tried again and soon, somehow, danced properly. Many girls made no secret of the fact that they wanted to go with me, although the rich farm boys with their rough and tough manners, their pockets full of money, were the ones who were really sought after. Not that I felt I was better than these boys - however, nor did I feel inferior because I was serving at the tables. I was convinced that this was just the beginning of something better. There was no time to waste on irrelevant thoughts. This was merely a time of transition - I wanted so much more from life.

Days and evenings passed and my special plans began to take shape. I had to find a way to get out of the village. Surely there would be better opportunities in the city? One cannot fail in life when one wants to work. A strong will to succeed would help me.

One Saturday morning, I was working in the garden in front of the house. The weeds had to be removed, the flowerbeds tidied, and the pebbles raked. It was a wonderful day. Peace reigned and the birds chirped in the trees as I laboured.
A friendly voice rang out in that pleasant morning. The postman stood behind the fence.

"Good morning! Here's a letter from America. These things do come a mighty long way when one thinks about it... even over the ocean!"

I did not dare to trust my ears. I let the shovel sink to the ground, stretched out my fingers - and held a thick, heavy letter in my hand.

"Many thanks, Herr Bauer! Your are right - it is a terribly long way from here. Aufwiedersehen!"

All excited, I flung myself onto my bench and saw it was not Richard's handwriting. Impatiently I tore the letter open and two banknotes fell out. As I bent to pick them up I thought:

"Richard sends me money? He must know how things are for me. But why now, after such a long time?"

In the big envelope there was a folded newspaper cutting. I unfolded it and saw a picture.

There was Richard... not alone... no... a lady in white, stood laughing beside him, a knife in her hand... ready to cut the wedding cake!

"Lord in Heaven!" It came softly from me. "Help me, it can't be. He swore love for me... spoke of building a new life together... this is not true! Surely what we had cannot be forgotten!"

Aunt Nora stepped out of the house and saw me motionless on the bench. No words came from me as I put my arms around her - and let the tears fall.

"For heaven's sake, Rudi, what has happened?"

My stuttering answer came very slowly.

"How could he... and not say anything? Richard has married... here is the wedding picture!"

As I opened the letter to read it, everything blurred. I had to read the contents twice in order to understand properly. It was from Richard's mother, and reported her son's marriage in a few short sentences. She said she knew I would have only the best wishes for him, which she was ready to relay to him. Her son had never had any secrets from her, and she knew everything about us. One cannot undo such things, but one can forget them! This wedding had been decided in order to give her son a new beginning to a normal life. Therefore, all further letters to him would only create trouble.

Under no circumstances did she want her son to be adversely influenced by something that had happened in such strange circumstances in the past. His new bride would lead him to a new life of proper responsibility. She had heard about my illness and the enclosed dollars should suffice to pay for the doctor. "Forget the past; think of the future," she concluded, "that is the end of it!"

Breathing heavily, my mouth wide open, I remembered my father's words: "If one really feels the pain... it helps!"

I stumbled through the fields, the forests, the whole neighbouring area, stunned. Then, frantically, I ran back to the places where, not long before, Richard and I had been together so happily. It seemed as if we had just left some of them; however, a year had passed and maybe nature had in those earlier moments made the leaves on the trees greener, the grass higher and the sunshine brighter. I closed my eyes, waiting to hear the sound of his voice, the deep laughter; remembering every word and the scent from him in the air. I sat on the stone by the little brook, the water gurgling happily past, but no little paper-ships were floating down on the water. The big moss-covered cliff wanted to be stroked; remembered and recognized. What inexpressibly blissful minutes, hours, we spent here, surrounded by tall meadow bushes. I was deluding myself with my fantasy. I began slowly to say goodbye.

"Pull yourself together, tear yourself loose! Life will go on. Do not hang on to things that make you so sad and doubtful, so irresolute. The clouds are moving as always. Ask them if they will take you along into a new world."

Unfortunately, neither clouds, nor sunbeams, nor fog took any notice of me, so I sat down forlornly in the grass. Then I began to admire nature again, and slowly renewed my strength once more.

Yet my mood was constantly swinging. There was a nagging search for an answer, which I sought avidly in the forms of the clouds. I prayed, sought some kind of a solution, and did everything in a relentless inner storm, but no clear view of the future emerged. Nothing opened up - no image of a splendid world for me! Yet I was certain that somewhere up where I had already been taken... up there something was still waiting for me.

I prayed in the church, hoping for a heavenly sign but only the odour from the incense lay heavily upon me. Nevertheless, I refused to believe that help could not be attained through waves of thoughts, and then, it struck me: we human beings must make our own miracles. No one on the heavenly throne can make them for us. This recognition fascinated me. Self-reliance is the true miracle.

Days passed with no surprises, no excitement, just a counting of hours and weeks, until one evening I came home and as usual washed myself by the well. The cold water always refreshed me. It made me forget my weariness for a while.

The Baroness called on me through the window. She wanted to talk to me immediately. I put on my shirt and combed my hair quickly - she wouldn't enjoy waiting for me! For the first time I had the opportunity to be in her room.

All my attention focussed on the Baroness in the old carved bed, with traces of faded paint still on it. Seeing her reclining on the feather cushions, with the thick spectacles that made her eyes small, sharp and distant, frightened me. She looked cold, pale and unapproachable.

"How much does the Schecher farmer pay per day? When do you receive it? I need every penny. With you and my sister in the house life costs a fortune and nobody seems to think about that; it must come from somewhere. I would like to warn you not to lie - or hide any away. I shall find it out, believe me! How much longer must I beg for the daily money? When are you finally going to set out to seek another home, to disappear? You don't deserve a home like this! Where is the money?"

Tired, and not in a mood to quarrel I replied:

"Have no concern, Baroness, you will get your money, otherwise it will be two more days until I am paid. It will not be much since I receive my food where I work!"

She held up her hand:

"Do you hear me? Every penny I shall have this time! You owe me a fortune, and do not think that you'll get away with that! But I must not excite myself, excitement might kill me - and you are not worth it!"

I quickly left the house in search of peace and quiet, and met the postman on the road. He was on the way home from the inn, pushing his bicycle ahead of him.

"Good day, Herr Bauer! Beautiful evening, isn't it? I am sure you have no mail for me, as usual." He stopped, breathing heavily, and puffed up his beefy face with its friendly eyes.

"Well now, some people never get enough do they? Many would be extremely happy to receive such a heavy letter from America such as you have received every week for God knows how long!"

"What are you saying? Every week?"

He took out his big red handkerchief and blew his nose:

"Well, the Baroness loves these beautiful stamps so much. Only last week there was this beautiful blue one. Soon she may start her own collection if this goes on. As she said, you don't care much for this stuff; is that right?"

The answer came slowly,

"Yes, I suppose... I don't care much for it. Good night!"

But I turned around, and raced back to the house and into the bedroom without knocking. On the night-table an oil lamp was burning - she needed light through the whole night, for even as a child she had terrible fear of darkness, according to Aunt Nora.

I moved closer to her and she shrank away from me.

"So you have embezzled my letters? Small wonder that none came to me! Why? For God's sake! Why did you have to do that? Where are they?"

I took her by the arms and shook her; then let her fall back into her pillows.

She hissed: "What kind of nonsense are you babbling? Maybe you mean those dirty love-letters from a man? Well, I read only one, and I had to throw up."

Suddenly there was fear, real fear in her face:

"Now, now do not get excited Rudi. Somebody had to pay the doctor after all. I thought, why...why not take the money from the letters. In any case with your careless ways you would have wasted it. Nothing would be left. You still owe me a heap of money. Why do you look at me that way? Have you no respect for an old lady?"

I squeezed her arm:

"Where are the letters? Keep the money and do what you want with it. But the letters... I want them, Baroness!"

The pupils of her eyes narrowed to slits. A tremor went through her body and a shortness of breaths racked her face.

"Somewhere! No! No! ...not now, ...tomorrow. The medicine... drops... where are they?"

She grabbed a little bottle from the night table with her spider-like fingers and held on convulsively. With the medicine bottle tight to her mouth she fell back on her pillow.

I left the house and staggered in a daze down the street to the inn. A few people were sitting in the garden and music was blaring from somewhere. Nobody must see how I really felt. Surprised at my self-control, I ordered a beer with a smile as the host's eyes rested on me. Nobody else noticed me. I was only a worker who wanted to enjoy a cold drink after the day's struggle. Obviously I drank it down too quickly, because I was gripped by a terrible anger towards the Baroness. I left the beer garden, ready once more to face the old witch and do what I had to do to obtain the letters.

In the meantime darkness fell; a wind roared through the trees and heralded a real storm. The light from the oil-lamp beckoned me as I neared the house, entered the living room and opened the window to let in fresh air. Nothing stirred behind the door of her bedroom. Only one thought dominated me - my letters. I had to have them, whatever the cost! I had to know what had occurred, what Richard was thinking, how he would interpret everything, how he might explain. A thousand questions might be answered. I decided to go into her room and search until I had the letters in my hands. I was almost certain that they would be hidden in a box under her bed, for there everything of value had been stuffed away.

I opened the bedroom door very carefully. A loud puff issued from the pale face in the bed - she must have been overpowered by sleep. I bent down slowly on my knees to crawl under the bed and carefully lifted the lid of the first box. At that moment, the wind suddenly closed the bedroom window with a loud bang. The body in the bed rose over me - she was awake! I stayed very quiet, hardly breathing. The draft from the window, which flapped open and shut with loud bangs, made the door to the room move slowly. The old one screeched:

"Don't you dare to enter this room, you swine! Out of my house! Or I'll call the police. Never come into my sight again! Damned Polak! Forget the dirty letters... I have burned them long ago. Ha! Ha! Burned them, yes, that's the thing to do with that kind of rubbish!"

She thought I was behind the door, and she tried to step out of the bed in the half-dark room. Lying under the bed I saw one spindly dry foot appearing; then the other. They were still hanging in the air before they reached the floor. Then something came over me. I stretched out my hands and clutched her thin, bony ankles. I thought: "I'll show you what fear is and teach you not to be so venomous, Baroness."

A loud intake of breath, a gasping for breath and a groan made me prick up my ears. A tremble went through my fingers. There was a twitch, a rearing up. My hands and fingers let go slowly and at the same time her body fell back on the bed.

After an eternity, it seemed, I rose and leaned over the Baroness. Yes, I wished to put fear into her, but obviously I had put life out of her - that was all I could think. Completely unmoved, I observed her last shudder, the sightlessness of the eyes, her dying. At the same time something died in me. People call it mercy, compassion. There are other names for it - but it died that night along with her.

Under the gloomy light of the oil-lamp I stretched her out in her bed and straightened the cover, quite mechanically. Her wide-open eyes stared at me, obviously already looking into another world - that was of no importance to me! An inexplicable and unfamiliar coldness took possession of me as I remembered the Austrian custom: "Should anyone die, then open the window and let the soul out!" Well, I could certainly do that to give her a last chance and let fresh air in.

"There you go Baroness, and just think, you cannot take anything with you. What a shame and disappointment that must be, after all this!"

She now lay so still, peaceful perhaps for the first time. I closed the window, walked out of the house and sat down on my usual bench. I felt empty, even with the wind and the scent of the flowers from fields, the trees and the meadows around. The moon stood clear in the sky. Only broken patches of fog strayed across it now and then.

Looking into the night slowly helped to remove some of the coldness in me. As if waking from a bad dream that was fading, I began to let everything work on me. Nature's mysterious, powerful beauty began to ease my thinking.

Looking at the moon, I began to tremble and shake just at the thought of its light. The blurred areas on that strange sphere out there fascinated me. They too, looked like clouds, somewhat hazy - covering part of it. I glared into the light and became part of it. The full power began to stream through me. It lifted me and took me along.

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Catalogue Information

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